Mixed Signals
by Ruphira
Summary: Claire thought she had everything figured out when it came time to propose... alas, if she had only read the marriage requirement list.


**A/N: Just a little thing I whipped up while trying to get back into the swing of writing. Also my first parody, so take it easy please! I hope you enjoy!**

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Claire thought she was about to swoon. Staring deeply into her lover's eyes, she never felt more at peace; she could barely register the manic thudding of her heart that had been so apparent only moments earlier. And never mind the sweat-soaked, white-knuckled fists.. she had long before wiped them across her overall pants.

(She had briefly considered dressing up for the big event but ha, who was she kidding? She never dressed up for anything! Heck, she'd probably wear these overalls to her own wedding.)

"_Why don't we discuss this at your place, Claire..."_

That's all she had needed to hear. Just the look in his dazzling eyes gave it away... it was a yes. He was hers.  
Trent's hold on her tightened. "I...I.. you mean it?" he murmured, close to her ear. A pleasant tingling shot down the farmer's spine at the closeness and warmth of his voice. She could only nod into his shoulder, then produced the Blue Feather once more to show him. Yes, she was serious.. yes yes yes!

Nothing could ruin this moment. Nothing could tear them apart.

His hand on her back, he cradled her against him. "I haven't been able to get you out of my mind lately..." he confessed, oh so tenderly. "I can't even focus on my work or studies... oh Claire, I'm so glad you feel the same way..."

Blushing hotter than an old laptop that had been running the Sims all day, the blonde pulled back to beam up at him and rest a sweaty hand on his cheek. The doctor didn't even flinch; _that's _love. She knew he had eyes for only her as he smiled lovingly down at her, a small dimple appearing on his left cheek.

Only she could make that dimple appear. (Oh Goddess, he was so hot.)

"I must have had a serious case of lovesickness," the dark-haired doctor continued seductively, drawing her close to him once more. "And the only cure is _you_... Nothing would make me happier, my Claire... of course my answer..is..."

She leaned earnestly up into his face, eyes shining with all the hope and infatuation of a lovesick teenager about to get her first kiss. And _then _some. (And then some more hope and infatuation, not... _some _some. You know what I'm sayin'? Let's hope no teenager gets their first kiss and then turns around and _also _gets some. That's moving a little too quickly.)

But Trent was distracted. He seemed to be peering at something over Claire's shoulder - behind her. The farmer watched his right eye twitch, ever so slightly. "My answer.. is... is... is that your _kitchen?"_

Caught off-guard, Claire turned to face the dirty-dish laden counter behind them. Well, yes, that was her kitchen! Sure it may have needed a little cleaning, but there was a time and place for that! They had more important things to attend to! The farmer hadn't exactly foreseen him insisting on coming here, if she had expected guests she would have cleaned up a bit. Confused and a little frustrated, she turned back to her lover with a nod.

His hands slipped from her waist and he turned away from her, frowning. "Claire," he began, his tone a tangy mélange of exasperation and disappointment, "I don't think I see a _mixer _on that counter. What on earth...what were you thinking?"

Mouth agape, she gave him a look of abject bewilderment.

"What are you looking at _me _like that for?" Trent demanded indignantly. His voice rose. "You're the one who just completely manipulated a man's emotions and expectations, and went as far as proposing to him, without even the courtesy of owning a mixer! You set me up, you played me! I... I _trusted _you, Claire O'Reilly! I can't believe this. You're not the woman I knew or loved."

Fuming, he strode to the farmhouse door and threw it open with a flourish. "It's like I never even knew you. Come back when you own a _full kitchen_." He paused, then muttered almost too low to hear, "And bring milk."

_Slam. _

Left alone and bereft in her kitchen, Claire sank to her knees. If only she had heeded the Harvest Sprites' advice of being completely prepared for having a spouse.

If only she could have explained that the all-important mixer was on its way as they spoke.

If only she could _speak._

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**A/N: Don't worry, Claire, just try again tomorrow. I'm sure he'll have forgotten this whole fiasco!  
****Thanks for reading; if you'd be so kind as to favourite or review on your way out, I'll be thrilled. Have a nice day :D**


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